


Little Red (Shit head)

by Fox_Pause



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Its only temporary), Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Character Death, Cuddling, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Dead Hales, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Dies, Feel-good, Feels, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Helpful Derek, Hurt/Comfort, Little Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Lumberjack, Mash-up, Protective Derek, Protective Derek Hale, Red Riding Hood Elements, Short, Short & Sweet, Stalker Matt Daehler, Stiles Stilinski as Little Red Riding Hood, Stroking, Triggers, Wolf Derek, curse, kind of?, playful derek, woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4725548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Pause/pseuds/Fox_Pause
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles packs a basket for the wolf and himself, as he has since his mothers death well over two years ago. He meets with the wolf and they make their way into the forest, eventually making their way to the lake. </p><p>OR </p><p>A weird mash-up containing elements from Little Red Riding hood and Beauty and the beast, where Stiles has nobody. Except Derek, of course. Stiles has always had Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To the LAKE!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mature, I know. That's why I named the work so inappropriately, brings out the maturity. That, and it's 3am and I just wanted to get it OFF MY BLOODY COMPUTER! so sorry for that.
> 
>  
> 
> ANYWAY... I hope you enjoy, there are two more chapters to come after this, so stay tuned for more. (Also, let me know If you can think of any better names, I'm not serious about keeping this one.)

He feels his way around the dark, tiny, dirty townhouse, bumping into every single inanimate object available. It’s just too damn early. He steadies himself against the old wooden table, leaning into it heavily as he tries not to grimace at the grimy filth that litters its surface, before making his way over to the fireplace. He fumbles with lighting the candlestick in the barely lit coals of last nights fire, almost burning himself as the flame flickers into being, filling the room with a soft orange glow. He rubs the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand, groaning when his eyes get blurrier instead of clearer, and rubs at the line of drool that’s hardened at the corner of his mouth.

 

Time to get moving.

 

After getting changed into a thick pair of pants and his favourite red cloak, he makes his way downstairs. He glances around the townhouse that was only supposed to be temporary, but somehow worked itself into something semi-permanent, before he gave up completely and just started calling it home, whatever that means. It’s at least 40 years old and is absolutely falling apart, and no matter how much he cleans, it always seems filthy. But he likes it. Or rather, his father liked it, said it had something to do with character and personality. After his fathers 'disappearance', Stiles had never bothered to move out.

 

He shuffles into the kitchen, by far the cleanest room in the house, and sets the candle on the bench, not caring if the wax trickles onto the counter. His shadow is thrown at the wall, and dances as he sets about preparing for his monthly journey into the forest. He wipes down a bench with an old t-shirt and sets about preparing two sandwiches, one with considerably more meat than the other and packs some apples and a drink. He stuffs it into a basket, covers it with a red cloth, and makes his way out of the door.

 

The walk to the forest’s edge is uneventful, but long. By the time he gets there, the sun is beginning to peak its head over the horizon, sunlight filtering through the trees as if out of a fairy tale, casting long shadows along the ground. There’s one shadow he recognises. He lets out a relieved breath he didn’t know he was holding, and goes to greet the wolf.

 

The wolf, as always, is striking. Fur darker than obsidian, softer than a pillow- although obnoxiously posed. Red eyes move to meet his, and he can’t help smiling, just glad that he doesn’t have to make the trek alone. The wolf moves closer, lazily strolling up to him and pressing his muzzle into the palm of Stiles’ outstretched hand. He huffs softly before sloppily licking up his arm, wagging his tail when Stiles lets out a loud ‘eww’, before nosing roughly at the basket and sticking his muzzle underneath the brightly coloured cloth. Stiles jerks the basket away from the wolf, admittedly not a good idea, as he’s reminded by the wolf’s harsh growl.

 

“Hey! No! You have to wait till we get to the lake. Then you can have your half.”

 

The wolf steps back, eyes the basket hungrily and marches into the forest, pausing at the boundary with what looks remarkably a lot like a ‘shall we’ face, before disappearing into the woods with a renewed vigour.

 

The forest has always been quiet, but Stiles guesses that has something to do with the extremely intimidating wolf at his side. He still remembers his mother introducing them when he was just small, naïve and the wolf was only _slightly_ smaller than he is now. At the time, he didn’t question why his mother knew a pack of freaking wolves, but he guesses it had to do with the names the kids at school were taunting him with during class, of course, unnoticed by Mr. Harris. They called her a witch, and several years later, they burned her at the stake just to be proven wrong. Flawed methods that’ll never change anytime soon. It’s not like he had anyone else to cope with either; his father turned to drinking and became a blubbering mess who wandered into the wrong alleyway at the wrong time. They never found his body.

 

If it hadn’t have been for the wolf at his side today, Stiles seriously doubts he’d still be here today. Sadness has its way with a man.

 

As if sensing his dip in mood, the wolf turns to him and quirks its head in a silent question -‘You ok?’. He nods and ruffles the wolf’s fur, earning himself a playful snap before racing into the woods, wolf nipping at his heels. 

 

He collapses in a heap nearly half an hour later at the base of the lake, toes teasing the waters edge, wolf hovering silently above him. Damn wolf stamina. Damn thing isn’t even slightly puffed, while Stiles is wheezing.

 

After idly staring at the sky while he waits for the oxygen to work its way back into his lungs, he gently pushes the wolf away, sitting up. He gaze skirts across the lake. He watches the lazy fog hovering ominously over the lake, never daring to touch. Fish break the surface every now and again, sending wide ripples scattering across the surface. Where the fog breaks, he can see the clear reflection of pine trees in the waters glass-like surface.  This is the one place he can find peace. It’s also where he comes to _remember_. Every month he comes to the lake, to remember his mother and father. Every month, the wolf meets him at the tree line, guides him to the lake, eats lunch and leads him back home. Every time Stiles lets out a little relieved breath, because there’s no way he could do this alone.

 

He reaches into the basket and pulls out the two sandwiches he made earlier, tossing the one with more meat to the wolf. They eat in silence, like they always do, side-by-side. His fingers tangle themselves in the wolf’s thick coat, as he strokes its back, carding his fingers through the masses of fur. The wolf lays down, perching it’s head upon regal paws, watching him through half-lidded eyelids. He begins to play with the thickest fur at the scruff, styling it into a Mohawk and finally settling on braiding it. Once he’s happy with his makeover, he lays a bony hand over the wolf’s ribcage and listens to the wolf’s long drags of breath, calming him until he too falls asleep.

 

When he wakes up, he’s half-curled around the wolf, half flung away, unconsciously trying to escape the furnace that the wolf is in sleep. He slowly rolls away from the wolf and smiles at the slightly angry huff as the wolf rolls onto its back, absorbing the heat from where Stiles was just laying. He sits up, yawns loudly and stretches, delighted as his back cracks in three different places as he turns. He slowly moves to his feet and toes the wolf, waking it from its deep slumber. The wolf lazily blinks before looking to Stiles, blatantly scandalised that Stiles would wake him from such a good slumber.

 

“Come on, Wolfy. I have to get home before it gets dark”

 

He slowly makes his way back into the woods, stumbling over the odd tree root or stone, brain still slightly drugged from sleep. He’s not even ten steps in when he’s stopped by the wolf, who happily trots up to him, basket safely clamped between his jaws.

 

“Oh, right. Thanks Wolfy. I totally would’ve forgotten.” The wolf huffs again and rolls it’s eyes ‘of course’. But as Stiles reaches out to take the basket from the wolf, he jerks the basket away. Stiles frowns, but let the wolf do as it pleases. He’s not about to get into a fight with a 70kg carnivore that could rip him to shreds in a heartbeat.

 

“Alright. Have it your way. You carry it” The wolf happily trots ahead, seemingly very proud of itself.

 

It’s when they’re about halfway into the journey back home that the wolf starts to behave, well, weirdly. He begins to walk with purpose, snaking a path a good ten paces in front of Stiles. His fur bristles and a deep, primal growl rolls its way from his chest, and the air seems to pick up the distinct sense of danger. 


	2. Run, Little cub.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wolf's mood slips into something Stiles isn't sure he can trust, so he makes a run for it. 
> 
>  
> 
> -TRIGGER WARNING IN THE CHAPTER NOTES-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---This is your trigger warning --
> 
> !!!!!!! There is attempted rape!!!! I haven't made it bleedingly obvious, and yes, Stiles does stop it, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. You have been warned.

There’s a quiet crackle in the bushes a few yards ahead that Stiles barely catches, the wolf’s head snapping to attention. Stiles moves to go closer to the noise, but suddenly the wolf’s pushing roughly at Stiles’ knees, bumping, knocking and herding Stiles away, towards what seems to be a small cave. He stumbles backwards, tripping over exposed roots and rocks, the wolf’s growls intensifying as Stiles pauses to pick himself from the leaf-littered ground. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, startled into a fluster by the wolf’s violent behaviour. Not once on all of their previous trips has the wolf behaved like this before, and its really starting to scare Stiles.

 

It’s not long before he’s roughly pushed into the cave’s wall, sagging down against the damp, muddy rock, catching himself halfway as he tries in vain to win his breath back. He counts to four and holds his breath until it returns to a somewhat normal rhythm, before looking for the wolf. He spots the now threatening wolf, a hulking mass of fur and fangs, at the mouth of the cave. It turns briefly to him, as if feeling his heavy gaze, and he swears it’s eyes flicker red, before snapping its teeth, revealing large elongated canines and turning back to the entrance and howling so loudly that Stiles has cover his ears, clamping his hands over them. He whines, when what little he can do to brace himself from the piercing sound, doesn’t work.

 

After what feels like an eternity, the wolf stops howling, distracted by something outside, and stalks from the cave with nothing more than a steady rumble rolling from its throat. Stiles lets out a long sigh, impending danger seemingly over, and takes this opportunity to look at his surroundings. It proves to be somewhat difficult. He’s severely limited by his horrid night vision, not able to see much further than his hand, outstretched before him. Still, his eyes follow the narrow path of light streaming in from the gaping entrance, and he examines what it illuminates. Small, loose stones litter the cave’s floor, faded from what he guesses used to be vibrant natural ochres into dull greys and browns, devoid of colour. The cave’s walls are jagged; lumps and bumps sticking out haphazardly every which way. If he strains his ears, now that the wolf’s howl has died down, he can hear the feint trickle of water droplets, falling into a puddle somewhere. Overall, a pretty standard cave. He can’t help wondering why the wolf brought him to this cave. Maybe it’s his den? Oh god, Stiles thinks. He’s going to eat me.

 

 That little scene from before? He’s just not in the mood to share.

 

Fear spikes as he jumps from conclusion to conclusion, growing considerably more menacing and unrealistic each time. A howl from outside snaps him from his thoughts and oncoming panic attack, and he realises that this is his last chance to flee with even a chance of escaping from the wolves claw-like clutches. He squeezes his eyes shut, and leaning forward, hatches a plan.  Rocking himself slightly, he takes one deep breath after the other, eyes clamped closed. After he’s sure he knows all the details, he opens his eyes, more determined than ever.

 

As he moves to a stand he’s stopped halfway, still kneeling, as he begins to hear the slow rhythm of steps making their way into the cave, the slide of pebbles as they’re displaced. He looks around the cave, but can’t make out any shapes. He reaches out a hand, gingerly feeling the ground before him, before slowly crawling foreword, careful not to make a noise. The steps quicken, moving with purpose, but Stiles still can’t make out any figures. He hopes it’s someone come to rescue him, maybe a lumberjack from the mill in town. He knows his chances are slim, but that doesn’t dampen his hope.

 

He keeps slowly edging his way to the exit, trying his best to listen out for the approaching footsteps. He’s skirted around most of the wall of the cave now. But at the moment, his severe lack of vision is severely impacting his ability to navigate this particularly tricky part. He’s somehow managed to get himself into a small tunnel, where his front half is draped uncomfortably over a large boulder, and he’s just had to squeeze his head past a pinch point, turning it to the side so that it’d fit. He didn’t think about the rest of his body, too scared for his brain to provide any rational thoughts besides a constant run, run, run! It’s safe to say, he’s thoroughly stuck.

 

He’s stuck there for a while, actually.

 

He stretches, trying his best to work out the aches and pains from his neck, before drooping it down, giving up. The footsteps had been staying a tantalisingly safe distance away, until now. They gradually become louder; rocks crushed under heavy feet, but are eventually drowned out by the jackhammer his heart has become. So when the footfalls end inches from his feet, and he still can’t see anything, it’s safe to say he’s freaking out just a little.  When two burning, red orbs open suddenly before him he’s absolutely terrified, mind thrown back to when they burnt his mother, and his brain screams FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

 

He screams, his head rears back, slamming with a deafening crunch into the unforgiving rock wall, and he’s out.

 

 

He wakes in small increments.

 

He shivers as a hot breeze skirts across his neck. His eyes sluggishly open; splitting the sleep caking them closed, before blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to lift the grey sleep-haze. He notices, after a little while, that he’s no longer stuck in the tunnel. He thinks about who could’ve possibly found him in the cave, with the wolf, and can’t help but feel an ache deep in his chest, one he hadn’t felt in years, when he thinks about the wolf being slaughtered.

 

He quickly thinks about something else. His rescuer, for instance.

 

He tries to stretch, but finds his arm pinned down behind him. He looks over his shoulder, and through the grey film of sleep, sees both the familiar small red square of cloth from his basket placed delicately over him, and a large, furry mass in slumber; carefully draped over his left arm and leg as he slept in his own trademark starfish style. He begins to panic quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping wolf. He takes his time, a minute or two to fully calm down. He doesn’t think about why the wolf hasn’t just killed him yet. He certainly doesn’t think about why it saved his scrawny ass.

 

He carefully pries his hand and leg from under the wolf, and tearily looks at its sleeping figure one last time before he leaves. He slowly takes in its qualities, memorising the curve of its jaw, the pattern on its noise. Looking at it now, its features are soft and relaxed. Like this, he’d never ‘d thought of it as a danger to him, but now, he’s not so sure.

 

He crawls silently from the cave, sniffling quietly as he loses the closest thing to a friend he’s ever had.

 

He stumbles through the forest, unsure of what to do now. He doesn’t know the way back on his own; he used to always follow the wolf’s trail. So he walks warily forward, further into the woods, jumping at every sound. Some are new – certain creatures never dared to challenge the wolf. While others serve as some sense of comfort, and he pictures their hosts showing him the way out. Hopeful thinking.

 

About an hour later, and he’s even more lost. He knows he doesn’t have long left until the wolf wakes, if it hasn’t already, so he quickens his pace.

When he enters a small clearing, a thick branch snaps loudly behind him, falling to the ground with a heavy clunk. He whips around just in time to see a surprisingly scrawny lumberjack emerging from behind an old oak tree trunk.

 

The lumberjack stalks into the clearing, and Stiles realises that the lumberjack is lazily dragging an old axe behind him, the head slicing through fallen leaves as he walks. He toys with the handle of the axe, using it as a crutch.  As if only just noticing Stiles, he slowly rakes his eyes over Stiles’ shivering body, smiling widely the entire time, and although it doesn’t reach his eyes, they begin gleaming madly. He steps further into the clearing, introducing himself. His name is Matt, and when Stiles doesn’t react, Matt advances further, smile widening when Stiles takes an instinctive step backwards, away from the impending danger. There’s something off about this man. He’d rather take his chances with the wolf.

 

The lumberjack, Matt, advances quickly when Stiles tries to retreat; pushing Stiles roughly into the nearest trunk, bark biting roughly into his skin where his shirt has risen up. He winces, and the lumberjack laughs, picking at his cloak with grimy fingers.

 

“Nice touch. I like it. Might even keep it on.”

 

Stiles might not be smart, or tough, or even coordinated, but even he knows what that means.  So he gathers up his courage, takes a deep breath, and hopes his voice doesn’t break when he says:

 

“Well, if you like that, lets see if you like this!”

 

He sends a short, hard jab into Matts stomach, satisfied when he hears Matt swear loudly, before Stiles stomps his heel as hard as he can onto Matts foot, and attempts to punch his nose, but, in typical Stiles fashion, misses and hits his neck instead, swinging his knee into Matts groin as hard as possible, before hightailing it out of there, screaming for help.

 

He blazes through the woods, limbs flailing as he blunders through the forest. His face is streaked with tears and he’s having trouble breathing, but he can’t stop, not just yet, because Matt, having recovered a few minutes ago, is hot on his trail. 

 

There’s movement in the trees up ahead, but he barely notices it as he sails past, tripping on an exposed root. He lands heavily on his back, but as he picks himself up, he’s distracted by a flurry of movement behind him.

 

Some hulking dark figure launches itself at Matt, and the two collide in a clash of fangs and metal, as Matt raises his Axe to meet his opponent. Stiles recognises the wolf immediately, gasping as it absorbs hit after hit of Matts Axe. The wolf makes eye contact with Stiles and backs off, melting into the forest once again. Matt stares after the wolf, before angrily turning to Stiles, face a blend of fury and something murderous.

 

He makes it halfway to Stiles, nostrils flaring and axe raised, before the wolf emerges from the foliage, soaring high into the sky before tearing Matts throat messily from his body in an impressive splutter of blood and gore, small spurts splattering over Stiles, who understandably, pukes.

 

He looks to the wolf, who’s standing over Matts body, visibly shaking. His fur is covered in a wet crimson sheen from head to toe, and Stiles thinks that’s impossible, because the wolf would have to be dead or dying from the wounds inflicted. It turns out to be the latter.

 

The wolf collapses, a high-pitched whistle weaving it’s way from his throat. He looks to Stiles with pleading eyes, and Stiles can’t help but sob. He runs to the wolf, hauling its heavy head into his lap and stroking its head ever so gently. He plays with its fur like he used to, and the wolf shudders as it struggles to breathe. As it draws its last breath, Stiles presses his head to its forehead, and the two share a knowing look, before splaying a hand over it’s heart, feeling it’s last beat beneath bony fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read guys! Let me know what you think! As always If you liked it, leave a Kudos, and a comment of you LOVED IT! I really appreciate it.


	3. Dissapeardo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles buries Derek's body, but it goes missing in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy Derek being re-alived. 
> 
> I'M TIRED, LEAVE ME ALONE, re-alived is a thing now.

He holds the wolf for hours, but it never wakes. He can’t help hoping for a miracle. He waits until late at night, when the moon hugs the stars, and then until the next morning, when the soft rays of golden light filter through the trees, illuminating the wolf’s lax expression. When he decides it’s finally time, he gently sets the wolf down on the ground, amongst the fallen leaves and warm dust, careful no to jostle the wolf’s once beautiful hide. He watches the way the dust moves from beneath the wolf as he sets him gently upon the ground, making way for a fallen hero. He moves to his feet, gazing sadly at the wolf. He goes about the forest next, collecting various flowers. He gathers all shades and species, but can’t help picking up a few extra red, their colour reminding him of something that makes his chest clench and breath stutter. He gingerly scatters them around the wolf in a spiral pattern he’s only seen in dreams, before moving to say goodbye to his old friend.

 

He sits on his knees, hunched over the wolf. He takes the wolf’s head, gently closes his eyes and presses a gentle kiss to the wolf’s nose. He tastes metal and salt when he sits back. He slowly unties his cape, taking as much time as possible to memorise the wolf, his protector, before gently tucking the wolf in to his eternal slumber, protected from the elements by Stiles’ beloved red coat.

 

Stiles leaves the wolf’s body when it’s almost sundown. He thinks about going home, but can’t bring himself to leave the wolf. Not just yet. So he makes camp in the wolf’s cave, somewhere he never thought he’d ever be glad to see again and sleeps.

 

He wakes up a few hours later, the distant ring of a nightmare still echoing loudly in his ears as he moves outside the cave, unsure if he’s was awake now, or was before. He can’t get over the nightmare of the wolf dying. His mind clears to the present when he sees scrapped flowers littering the ground, tainted and stained by a mysterious black goo that’s meshed itself into the dirt, turning the mud into a thick, dirty concoction that wreaks of magic and power. The wolf’s body, missing.

 

Stiles gapes. His mind searches for a possible culprit. Comes up blank. Who could do such a thing? Stealing a wolf’s body, for the purpose of a trophy. Or even worse; Witchcraft. He searches the ground for tracks. Only sees the thick trail of black worming it’s way from the small clearing into the forest. He feels an overwhelming sorrow envelop him roughly, beginning from deep, deep within his spine, that reaches out with cold tendrils and pulls him into the ground. So he can never move again. Stiles closes his eyes against the pain as it washes over him, leaving nothing more than a husk of a man.

 

Stiles follows the black sludge silently to the lake, not bothering to duck away from the branches that stick out oddly in his path, even when they break his skin, leaving thin trails of blood in their wake.

 

He stumbles to the lake eventually. Coaxes his eyes up from the black trail. Sees the lake’s covered in a thick, rolling blanket of fog. The trail leads into the water, but nothing further than that. Stiles crumbles at the foot of the lake. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. So he sits, and stares at his hands, rolling them over each other. He can’t feel them though. Oh no, the numbness has reached out from his soul, and entwined its little claws into his extremities, slowly edging its way inwards.

 

He feels an odd stir in his chest. If Stiles were to describe it, he’d say it felt like a tight coil of light slowly expanding, consuming him. There’s movement on the lake.

 

A small section of fog collapses in on itself, sinking into the lake. The waves pick up, crashing to the shore, steaming slightly. Suddenly, a dark figure emerges from the water. It stretches its long limbs as the water peels back enough to reveal that the figure is a large wolf. Stiles sucks in a sharp breath and has to steady himself as the wolf, no-his wolf, drags itself from the waters edge. The wolf looks up, two blinding red orbs piercing through the darkness, staring directly into Stiles’. The Wolf pulls itself further up the shore, as Stiles notices something different. The Wolf’s fur is shedding, malting. It tumbles from the wolf with each step, falling to the ground in tufts, revealing tanned and toned flesh. Stiles sits, mesmerised by the wolf’s transformation into something human.

 

The wolf-man, looks exhausted and pale. Stiles scrambles over to the man’s shaking body, looping a heavy arm over his shoulders as he helps him further up shore.

 

They fall to the ground in a shaking mass. Stiles looks at the man beside him. Studying his features, both hard and soft. His face is a compilation of hard edges that plane together beautifully to create something god-like. Dark hair graces his head, plastering against his forehead as sweat beads in his pores. His eyes flutter open, and deep pools of brown, green and blue meet his own. He watches as the man’s pupils rapidly shrink, accepting the light harshly, and connect with his whisky ones with a searching look, before sitting up and staring at Stiles with a look of awe.

 

The man’s words tumble from his mouth messily, his mouth struggling to contort itself into the right shape for the words he can’t yet find. “You- you’re, him. You’re really here.” He grabs Stiles face with his large hands, thumbs grazing his cheeks lightly.

 

Stiles feels his bottom lip tremble as his eyes fill with tears of relief. He smiles slowly, letting it grow into a full grin that catches in the mans face, and he begins smiling too, although it feels foreign to him now, since he’d been the wolf so long. Stiles stills, realising he can now ask a question he’d been wanting to know for years. “What’s your name?”

 

The man looks down at Stiles’ hands, tugs them out of his lap and brings one to rest over his chest, right over his heart. Stiles can feel the rapid beating under the heat of his palm. “My name, is Derek.”

 

Derek takes one of his hands and gently, almost as if Stiles were to break, cards it through Stiles’ short locks. “I’ve waited so long for you, Stiles” He whimpers as Stiles touches Derek’s lips, outlining his bottom lip with a shaky finger.

 

“So long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I'm not sure if I should leave this here, or develop it further. So, IT'S UP TO YOU GUYS TO DECIDE! Let me know in the comments below, or at my Tumblr if you want me to take it further!.
> 
> As always thanks for reading and make sure to leave a kudos if you liked the (short) read, and a comment if you REALLY liked it!
> 
> MA TUMBLR: http: http://fox-pause.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think peeps. Leave a Kudos if you think it's good, and comment if you think its REALLY good, I always love to read what you guys have to say. Let me know If I've made any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors, this was written as a spur of the moment thing, so there's bound to be heaps. CHEERS!


End file.
